


I wait for you and you come around (we'll make heaven a place on earth)

by questionsthemselves



Series: together we'll make this heaven [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: And also smut, F/F, Female Protagonist, Female-Centric, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, awkward people in love, failsex, learning to people is hard, learning to relationship is even harder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Her old cybernetic hand has been replaced by one slightly more sleek, and all her metallic bits have been clouded over black with fuel smoke. She’s scowling down at Mantis, hands clenched tight, and she’s absolutely beautiful.“I…” Mantis wrings her hands, “I am glad you are here.”Nebula hutches, says gruffly, “I am only staying until my ship is fixed.”“I know,” and Mantis does. Nebula wouldn’t be herself, if she simply gave up her quest. “I will be glad for the time you are here with me.”In which Mantis and Nebula start to build a new fragile thing, life is not always like in the books and Peter is an enthusiastically advice-giving big brother.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks and love to Polaris and Grison for helping me figure out this plot and also talking Mantis/Nebula with me, this story wouldn't exist without you two! <3 x
> 
> EDIT: So apparently a bunch of intolerant shit swizzlers were giving my amazing friends hate over who they ship. So guess what assholes. I added this background pairing _just for you._ Fuck off.

“You ever tried avoiding the missiles, or do you have more fun playing chicken with them?” 

Peter scrunches his face up, lips pursing. Smoke wafts gently from three separate corner’s of Nebula’s ship, drifts over the seams of Rocket and Kraglin’s careful patches. 

Nebula glares, but as she starts to open her mouth with a snarl the crack in the windshield spiders up the view screen. Slowly, slowly, it shudders into pieces with a resigned clatter. Thank goodness the ship had made the trek to the Guardians. Mantis wrings her hands. She’s not sure how how it had even managed to survive the jumps. 

“Well,” Peter tilts his head, eyes the tiny river of fluid with morbid fascination, “The bed’s still set up in the spare room, if you push all the junk out of the way.”

“That’s _important tech,_ ya pink doofus,” Rocket scowls up at Peter. “Always wanting me to fix what you broke, never giving me the space to do it.”

“You have a whole room of your own and the engine room,” Peter spreads his hands, mouth dropping open.

“Blue here better not poke any of it too hard, is all I’m saying,” Rocket stalks off, multitool pulled from somewhere, away from the cut out and towards Nebula’s ship. “Don’t blame me if she blows herself up.”

Peter ambles after him, and then Mantis and Nebula are alone. Mantis stares at her. 

She’d always known, that Nebula would leave her. Thanos is still out there and until he isn’t, Nebula will never stay. 

Mantis understands. And Nebula… Nebula is worth waiting for. 

Her old cybernetic hand has been replaced by one slightly more sleek, and all her metallic bits have been clouded over black with fuel smoke. She’s scowling down at Mantis, hands clenched tight, and she’s absolutely beautiful. 

“I…” Mantis wrings her hands, “I am glad you are here.” 

Nebula hutches, says gruffly, “I am only staying until my ship is fixed.” 

“I know,” and Mantis does. Nebula wouldn’t be herself, if she simply gave up her quest. “I will be glad for the time you are here with me.” 

She can show Nebula she understands, show her she means it, if Nebula will let her. Mantis untangles her hands, reaches one out slowly. She’s learned by now, to be careful with touch, even if someone has permitted her before. 

Nebula looks down at her hand like she’s expecting Mantis to grab for her. Mantis doesn’t move, arm outstretched in the air. It must reassure her, because Nebula slowly, jerkily, lifts her hand towards Mantis. 

Her fingers are stiff, almost clawed how she’s holding them, but it still makes something in Mantis’ chest flute and fizz. She tangles their fingers together, Nebula’s skin cool, soft and almost rubbery smooth. 

Longing and exhaustion and uncertainty, pour over Mantis in a wave crash landing, and she wills back to Nebula all her bubbling joy and fondness. It’s like stretching a cramped limb, finally slumping on the couch after standing for hours, taking off boots at the end of the day. Nebula isn’t even a little afraid of this, actually _likes_ this, and so Mantis never wants to stop. 

“You should make more of those cookies,” Nebula blurts out, squeezes Mantis’ hand a little tighter. 

“I found a new cookie recipe to try too, you can taste test them with me,” Mantis says. “They are like little sandwiches and you can put different things in different ones like citrus and chocolate.”

“Or maybe both,” Nebula voice is low, and she stares just beyond Mantis’ ear.

“Or both,” Mantis smiles, pushes her hair behind her ear, “They are called macaroons.” 

Nebula’s tilts her head. “That is a strange name.”

“It’s a Terran one, Peter found it for me,” Mantis gives Nebula’s hand a last gentle rub, and lets it go.“They look easy, tomorrow you could make them with me.”

 

That night, Mantis is almost asleep when she’s startled by the faint chime of the door alert. There’s a beat, and the door hisses open, Nebula standing awkwardly in the opening. Her arms squeeze her chest, folded tightly and Mantis stares. She’s so beautiful, silhouetted cobalt by the dim glow of light behind her.

“Drax snores,” Nebula says, “and I can hear him through the walls.”

Something flutters low in Mantis’ stomach. Nebula could have gone to share Gamora’s bed,she could have bothered Kraglin on the bridge, but she didn’t. 

She came to Mantis. 

“So I’m going to sleep here,” Nebula stalks over to her bed, then sinks gracefully to the floor and spreads out. On the floor. Not on Mantis’ bed. Mantis blinks down at her. Does she… not want to sleep with Mantis? She’d rather sleep on the metal _floor_? All the fluttering things in her turn cold and sinking. 

Nebula lies stiff as a rod, not shifting or spreading. It looks terribly uncomfortable. Is sharing a bed with Mantis that repulsive?

“The floor is cold and hard.”

Nebula stiffens even more. Mantis swallows, makes herself keep going, each word drop carefully. 

“The bed is big enough for you as well and,” Mantis swallows again, bunches the sheets beneath her fingers, “I would like you to sleep next to me.” 

Nebula flips, in one fluid motion. She stares at Mantis, almost glaring. “Sleep?” 

Mantis’ cheeks warm, but she says, “Sleep. And I–“ Mantis squeezes the blankets tighter, “Iwould like to touch you. I’ve thought about it, while you’ve been gone.” 

Nebula swallows hard, pushes up on her elbows, says, “Yes.”

 

Mantis has never done this, but she’s sure it will be beautiful. It always is in the books she’s read when the heroine finds someone special. She’d read a lot of those, on cold, dead nights on Ego, so very, very alone. 

Nebula, Mantis thinks, might be her someone special. 

“I want to kiss you,” Mantis reaches out to cup Nebula’s cool cheek in her hand. Nebula blinks at her, black-eyed and silent but Mantis can feel the tingling whirlpool splash of nerves and want against her fingers. 

Maybe Nebula’s never done this either. 

Mantis tilts her head, breathes in, leans forward. Her hand is trembling against Nebula’s face, and Mantis hopes she doesn’t notice. Nebula doesn’t move and Mantis sucks her bottom lip in, frozen. Then Nebula hutches, and their lips are touching and oh. 

_Oh._

They’re kissing _,_ and Mantis can feel nothing so much as every nerve she never knew she had in her lips lighting up all at once. Nebula’s lips are cool and soft and taste like nothing at all, not strawberries or mint or something indescribable. But then, maybe that part only happens when there’s tongues. 

Mantis lets her lips part, and flicks her tongue out against Nebula. 

“I–” Nebula jerks back. Her hands coming up to rest in careful parenthesis around Mantis, in the the dip of her curves. Like Nebula can’t quite decide whether to pull her closer or push her away. 

“I liked that,” Mantis says, just in case Nebula had got the wrong idea, “I want to try it again.” 

Nebula blinks at her for a long second, and then she leans in carefully, brings their mouths together again. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis pushes up to meet Nebula’s mouth, softly. Maybe tongues are better when they’re in the heat of passion. She’s sure she’ll know it when it happens.  
> Nebula presses in closer, making soft breathless noise against Mantis’ lips. Mantis tilts her head, presses back. Right now what she wants is more, more skin, more kissing, more Nebula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to Grison and her unexpected wealth of lesbian pulp novels for helping me get unstuck on this fic, and to Polaris for looking it over. <3

Mantis pushes up to meet Nebula’s mouth.  Maybe tongues are better when they’re in the heat of passion. She’s sure she’ll know it when it happens.

Nebula presses in closer, making soft breathless noise against Mantis’ lips. Mantis tilts her head, presses back. Right now what she wants is more, more skin, more kissing, more Nebula. She reaches for Nebulas waist, and wait, she’s still in her leathers.

It would feel even better, skin on skin. Nebula seems content to follow Mantis’ lead, so clearly Mantis should be the one to show her passion by tearing her out of her clothes.

She gropes for a handful of leather jumpsuits, digs her fingers in. If she can just get a good enough grip…

“What are you doing,” Nebula grumbles against her lips, as Mantis jerks futilely at the leather.

Maybe Mantis just has to really go for it. She yanks, hard, sending Nebula crashing forward, her teeth painfully into Mantis’ chin.

Oops.

Nebula’s hands claw into Mantis’ thighs as she pushes herself back up.

Dammit. Mantis’ antennae droop.

“I want to see you,” Mantis puts her hands on Nebula’s, thumbs at the deceptively delicate feeling bones in her wrists. “All of you.”

“Oh,” Nebula’s hands spasm, then she carefully pulls them away, “There’s a zipper. Here.”

Yes. Zipper. Mantis will passionately unzipper Nebula. She stares deep into Nebula’s eyes, willing her to see Mantis’ desire and grabs for the zipper.

Except, Nebula grabs for it too. Their hands tangle, jerking the zipper halfway before it snags.

“Here, I can,” Nebula tries to lean her hip back and away, but Mantis follows, determined. In all the books, this was the first step in making love. Nebula needs to know how much Mantis wants her.

But the zipper, caught in the leather from their pulling, still doesn’t budge. Finally, Mantis gives up, lets go. Nebula stares at her, then breaks her gaze as she starts to carefully work the zipper free.

None of this is going to plan. Mantis bites the inside of her lip. Maybe if they just each take off their own clothes, they can get back to kissing. She’d liked that.

She crosses her arms, grabs the edge of her sleep shirt and pulls it over her head. It was definitely much more comfortable to sleep in. Maybe she could give one to Nebula. Something warm runs through her at that though, Nebula wearing her shirt.

Her own gets carefully dropped by the side of the bed, in case she need to get up in the middle of the night. When she looks back though, Nebula hasn’t made any progress on her own clothing. Instead she’s frozen staring and Mantis, staring at her…

Oh. Mantis has never been particularly fond of her breasts. She doesn’t hate them, but they just exist, small and there. But the way Nebula’s looking at her makes Mantis cheeks flush warm.

Maybe she’s not so ugly after all, if Nebula looks at her like that.

Something’s tingling, zinging around inside her belly, as she lets Nebula look. Nebula seems to realize though, that she’s been caught and starts tugging her now-unzipped leathers off. Her eyes stare determinedly anywhere but at Mantis and… is she a little bluer than she was a moment ago?

Maybe she should give Nebula a moment. Mantis ignores the smug glow fizzing in her chest, and waits until Nebula is mostly undressed to push up to her knees, slide her underwear down her hips. When she settles back down, Nebula is naked too, and oh, she’s _lovely_.

Her cheeks are _definitely_ bluer, her arms folded across her chest, and she still has that look she gets sometimes, like a feline that’s just been picked up and plopped down in a new and different spot.

It cute, but Mantis wants to make her smile again so she reaches out slowly, cups Nebula’s cheek. When Nebula doesn’t move, Mantis lets all the warmth and tingling that fills her every time she sees Nebula trickle out her fingers, tinged rosy with desire. Nebula’s mouth parts, and she gets even warmer against Mantis’ palm.

There’s a jump-shock of need, sparking against Mantis’ fingertips, and she can’t wait a moment longer. She squirms forward on her knees until she can kiss Nebula again, harder this time, using the hand on Nebula’s cheek to tilt her so they can slot closer together.

Ooh. Nebula likes that. Mantis cups her cheek a little harder, and maybe if she pushes a little closer. Nebula’s hand goes back to brace herself, so Mantis pushes a little more insistently.

“Here, lay down,” Mantis breathes against Nebula’s lips. Nebula purses them, and Mantis can’t help but bite gently at them. Nebula sucks in a breath sharply, then melts down onto the bed, staring up at her with huge, black eyes.

Yes. This is much better. Mantis settles over Nebula’s hips, knees tucked against her sides.

Nebula’s skin is deliciously cool against Mantis’, silky smooth and Mantis wants to put her hands all over it. But first, she wants Nebula hands on her.

“You can touch me,” Mantis says, while Nebula looks at her, stiff and wide-eyed. “I want you to touch me, here,” and she gently takes Nebula’s hands in hers, puts them on her waist.

She curls over, elbows braced by Nebula’s head as she kisses her again. And it’s lovely soft and warm, and her pulse flutters in her throat and something throbs between her legs and before she can stop herself she’s grinding down. She’s wet already, and it smears slick against Nebula’s belly as Mantis widens her legs, tries to get more friction. Nebula’s panting now against her lips and Mantis can feel it, feel her delight, feel her nerves.

Except… now what. Mantis grinds down a little harder, and any minute now she should just know what to do next. Any moment now. In all the books, all the stories, once you got past the confessions and the clothes your body was just supposed to know what to do, and why doesn’t she know what to do?

Maybe if they rub their whole bodies together. After all, grinding against Nebula feels so good, and Mantis wants to make Nebula feel good too.

“Let me-“ Mantis pushes up, stretches out and squirms one leg between Nebula’s. There. Now they can grind against each other.

Mantis pulses forward, but Nebula’s not as slick. She wants this, Mantis can feel it, so maybe her species doesn’t get wet like Mantis’ does? Or maybe Mantis needs to grind a little harder.

But that doesn’t do anything for Nebula, Mantis can feel it, and no, no, no. She doesn’t understand, this isn’t anything like what was supposed to happen.

Maybe… maybe those books were wrong. Or maybe something in Mantis is broken.

And Nebula still isn’t touching her, just letting her hands rest lightly on Mantis like she’s afraid if she presses too hard Mantis will break and really. Nebula of all people should know better.

“Um, maybe,” Mantis pushes up, leans to one side. She fumbles a hand between Nebula’s legs, because maybe if she starts touching Nebula like she touches herself, that will work.

Except Nebula’s stiffening against her, and every time Mantis touches her she sparks nervous and unhappy against her fingertips. And oh, no. Mantis never closed the connection. Nebula is feeling all her confusion and that sinking squirming pit in her stomach.

Mantis pulls back, but it’s too late. Nebula’s stiffened all over, staring up at her with the corners of her mouth pulled tight and that’s… no.

Mantis slides her hand out, collapses down. She nestles her face into Nebula’s neck, hooks her hands under her shoulders.

“Can I…” she mumbles into Nebula’s skin. “Can I just hold you?”

Maybe it’ll help, if she let Nebula feel just a little more. Mantis slowly reaches, breathes warmth and trust and all the deep fondness that lumps inside her throat into Nebula.

Nebula grunts out something indistinguishable, but her muscles start slowly, slowly, to relax. Good, yes. Mantis snuggles closer, breathes in the scent of metal and skin and Nebula. She shuts her eyes, but misery buzzes incessant in her head.

What happened? What had she done wrong? Nothing had gone how it was supposed to, and Mantis doesn’t understand.

But there’s still faint rivulets of uncertainty and panic flickering through Nebula’s mind, and so Mantis pulls her close, nuzzles into her neck, and holds her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Mantis socks her fist squarely into the center of the ball of dough. It’s viscerally satisfying, watching the powdery white puff of flour as it deflate with a sad huff. Turn, fold, press. The rhythm soothes her, predictable, as she kneads it over and over. 

One particularly vicious punch sends Mantis’ knuckles skating over the counter, and she jerks her hand back with a hiss. Her knuckles sting, and she sucks on them sulkily. 

Stupid counter. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Mantis jerks her head up. Peter lounges against the doorway, staring at her with his forehead wrinkled. 

“Cause that’s not your okay face,” Peter pushes off the door, meandering further into the kitchen. “Your okay face definitely involves less snarling and punching things.”

“I am not snarling,” Mantis goes back to sulkily kneading her dough, without quite as much vitriol as before. “I am making dinner for Nebula.”

Peter blinks, then all but waggles his eyebrows at her as leans an elbow on the counter, grinning. 

“For Nebula huh?” he says, “Reaaaaaaally. Gotta go all out then. Flowers. Candles. _Romantic_ ,” he props his head up on his hands, nods sagely. 

And just like that, Mantis antennae droop. Her bread is definitely edging toward overworked, but she punches her fist into one more time anyways. 

“Um,” Peter hesitates, eyebrows raised.

Romance, exactly, is the problem. Mantis’s shoulders slump. 

“I don’t think I’m good at it,” she says, quietly. “Being romantic.” 

“I…” Peter’s face twists through about five different expressions before settling on confusion. “Did you guys fight? is this apology dinner?”

He leans in a little closer, as he lowers his voice, “‘Cause I know all about apology dinners, I’m _great_ at apology dinners.”

“No-o,” Mantis sets her dough gently back in its bowl, covers it with the cleanest dishcloth left in the kitchen. “Nebula stayed in my room last. Nothing happened”

Peter waits a beat, then when Mantis doesn’t proffer anymore information he says, “Nothing… happened?” 

“Yes,” Mantis turns halfway to set the bowl against the wall that was shared with one of the engine rooms. Should keep it warm enough to rise, hopefully. At least something will do what it’s supposed to do. “Nothing happened. I tried to make love with Nebula but something was wrong.” 

Even just thinking on it makes her antennae droop even more and she wrings her hands. “I didn’t know what to do. I think something is wrong with me.”

“I…” Peter stares at her, mouth slightly ajar. He swallows and then says hesitantly, “Mantis, there’s nothing wrong with you. I don’t think. Unless you’ve sprouted a new limb or somethingthen you should definitely get hooked up to the med droid because something could absolutely be wrong.” 

Mantis giggles. Peter’s so funny. 

“I have not grown any new body parts,” she says, shakes her head. “We took our clothes off and kissed and then I tried to touch her and it did not make her feel good.” 

Peter swallows, goes a little redder. But Mantis needs to know, and Peter has had lots of sex. He will definitely know what happened.

“Nebula was sad and I did not know how to fix it,” she says and curls in on herself a little, folds her arms. “So maybe something is wrong with me.”

It’s better to know now, no matter how much it would hurt. The truth is always better, but she wants Nebula _so much_ , might even love her and the though of not being with her is just…

Mantis shudders, curls a little tighter. 

“You’ve um,” Peter shifts, bites at his lip. “I don’t mean to get personal but… is this the first time you’ve–“ and he makes a weird gesture with his hands. 

What? Mantis blinks. Peter repeats the gesture a little more insistently, and then waggles his eyebrows as he says, “y’know, done it? With someone?”

“…Yes,” she rubs at her elbow. “But I have read many books. And in all the books if it was the right time and with their one true person they knew what to do.”

“You mean you’ve only read _romance novels_?” Peter’s voice pitches up, and his eyebrows go up practically to his hairline. “Stories are awesome, and there’s some great stories out there, like there’s this one about a space spy who almost kills his mercenary except they end up making out in the room of the guy the mercenary was gonna kill and– anyways,” Peters shakes his head. “I mean they’re great, but a lot of them are just fantasy.”

Mantis cocks her head. “But…”

“Mantis, nobody just knows what to do their first time,” Peter leans in a little, voice earnest. 

They don’t? She looks at him. 

“I read very many books,” she says, bites her lip. "And they  _all_ knew what to do." Peter searches her face, and then tries again. 

“You know the first time i had sex?” he pauses, and goes the faintest bit redder around his ears. “It was with an A’askvarian.”

Oh no. Mantis’ eyes widen as she says, “But A’askvarians–“

“They bite. Yes,” Peter’s ears are definitely red. “I found that out. Also I’m super allergic to the normal protective spray you use so you don't catch anything. Found that out too.”

It shouldn't be funny, but Mantis has to make a valiant effort not to giggle anyways. “What _happened_?”

“After I really started bleeding I finally sucked it up and called Yondu,” Peter rubs at his neck. “Who burst in there with his arrow blazing and then spent two solid minutes laughing at me once he figured out I wasn’t actively dying.” 

His voice turns fond. “Dick. He practically manhandled me into the medbay and then told Kraglin that if I was old enough to go getting myself in trouble with A’askvarians I’m old enough to get a talk so I didn’t end up like needing rescued like some soft-handed corpsman again.” 

“A talk?” Mantis cocks her head. 

 “Yup. But um, i’m not sure that what he told me applies to you,” Peter shifts a little from foot to foot. “I mean, i don’t want to presume what, um… what equipment you have.”

Oh. That’s fair. Having team showers after unfortunately gloppy battles means that Mantis has more than theoretical knowledge that not every female identified species comes with same type of genitalia she has. 

“I have a vagina,” she says, “and I think that’s what Nebula has too. Except I don’t think it works like mine because I couldn’t make her feel good.”

Peter cocks his head, says puzzledly, ”That’s… that’s pretty normal. Even people with the exact same equipment need totally different things.”

His voice lowers conspiratorially. “That’s part of what makes it fun, y’know? Figuring out what gets them off.”

And that’s… none of the books Mantis' read have said anything about that. All the women seemed to like lots of kissing and writhing around and staring into each other's eyes as they form mystical connections.

“But you don’t just know how it works?”Mantis rubs her elbow harder. “In the moment? If they are right for you aren’t you just supposed to know?”

Except... now she says it like that, maybe it does sounds a little silly.

“Aw, no” Peter says, “Nobody just knows, and especially if you’ve never, y’know, done the do before.” 

He waggles his eyebrows again, like he's incapable of mentioning sex without doing that. And, w ell. Mantis takes a deep breath. Maybe that means… maybe she’s not broken. Maybe she just has to learn this, like she’s learned everything else - all the social customs and unspoken rules. Like she’s learned how to cook. 

“So what should I do then,” she stares up at Peter, widens her eyes. 

Peter looks both embarrassed and like this this moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. 

“Okay,” he squares his shoulders, inhales deep. “So you gotta start slow, you can’t just go right for it. Find out what other places she likes you to touch, watch her face. You’ve got an advantage here with the whole–“ he wiggles his fingers at her, “–so you can use that.”

Mantis nods determinedly. 

“Um,” Peters tilts his head, squints up and the ceiling. “Oh, and if there’s too much friction that’s not gonna be fun for anyone okay, so lube is your friend, okay?”

“Lube?” 

“Yeah, get things slick ‘cause everybody doesn’t make their own ’n stuff“ Peter says and of course. Maybe Nebula doesn’t make her own but if there’s something that can use. 

“There’s some in the med cupboard,” he adds, “with all the other pastes and stuff."

He mulls something over in his head and then after a pause says, “And umm, have fun with it. if you’re not having fun, she’s not gonna have fun and it’s just gonna be a great big circle of not-funness.” 

Mantis nods. That is definitely more helpful than anything she had read in her old books except… “ But then what do I _do?”_

Peter opens his mouth, and then immediately closes it. His face scrunches up the way he does when he’s thinking something through, before he straightens up with a grin.

“Here,” he taps his wrist comm, flips through until he can poke at a file and flick it over to her comm. “This is by another girl who’s into girls. Probably be more helpful than me just telling you about guy stuff. But more helpful than those other books”

“A book?” Mantis taps the file, watches wide-eyed as it pops open with bold, colorful flair. 

Then behind Peter, the door slides open and Kraglin saunters casually in. He must have heard her clattering around in the kitchen, and decided to swing by in his usual quest to wheedle cooking scraps out of Mantis. 

“Books,” he pauses when he sees Peter before seemingly deciding he isn’t gonna let that stop him. “Buncha words to say what people already know. What you giving her a book for, Pete?”

“Hello Kraglin,” Mantis says, beaming. “We are talking about how to have sexual relations.” 

Kraglin blinks, face like a startled cat, and then promptly takes two steps back with his hands behind his back. 

“Nope. This ones all yours Petey,” he says, shakes his head. “Uh uh. I already did my time.”

Peter smirks. “Awww, c’mon Kraglin. Your talk wasn’t _that_ bad. I mean. I didn’t get bit by anyone again after that. Well. During sex.”

Kraglin lowers his hands. “Uh huh. Nope. This ones all yours.” 

And with a respectful nod towards Mantis, and a last longing look at her half-cooked meal, he about-faces and strides back out the door. 

Peter watches him leave. He’s still grinning, but something melancholy ghosts in this eyes. 

“He actually did pretty good job,” he says, quietly. “Good thing Yondu had him, because he probably would have…” 

He trails off, drooping, and his hand drops to rub at the bit of black wire poking up out of his pocket. There's still something broken between them, Yondu and Peter. Too often the fights on the bridge end with Yondu leaving on 'reconnaissance missions' for indeterminate lengths of time, Kraglin and Rocket sulking and holing up in their shared room until he returns. 

Mantis reaches across the counter, rests her flour-dusted hand on Peter’s.  She can’t take his pain, but she can hold it with him. 

Peter swallows hard, turns his hand just enough to let his thumb rest against her wrist. They sit there, the smell of yeast and flour and warmth around them, his callouses rough against her skin.

After a beat he says roughly, “Better get moving on that dinner.” 

He quirks his mouth up slyly, “Gotta have everything perfect, if you wanna romance your lady right.”

Mantis gently lets him go, lets her empathy wink out. He’s right. Her dough will need baking, and the longer her soup simmers the better the flavors will meld. And she has to see if Rocket know where there might be some of these candles. He knows exactly what's hiding where in absolutely every nook and cranny on the ship so if they have some, Rocket can find them.

Peter shifts, pushes upright, settling his good humor back over himself like well-loved leathers. “And remember what I said okay? Lube is your friend.”

Mantis giggles. “Yes, lube is my friend.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis reads the entire book entranced. Her soup nearly burns, since her absent-minded one-handed stirring is barely enough to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.  
> Then it’s time. Mantis carefully balances it all, the soup, her bread, her book. She lays it all out in her room, plumps up the cushions invitingly next to the makeshift table.  
> Now to find Rocket for the candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently a bunch of intolerant shit-swizzlers were giving my amazing friends and associated hate over who they ship. So guess what assholes. I added the background pairing _just for you._ Now fuck off.
> 
> Not edited, and probably won't be.

Mantis reads the entire book entranced. Her soup nearly burns, since her absent-minded one-handed stirring is barely enough to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. 

Then it’s time. Mantis carefully balances it all, the soup, her bread, her book. She lays it all out in her room, plumps up the cushions invitingly next to the makeshift table. 

Now to find Rocket for the candles. After checking the engine room and the bridge, she finds him in his room, draped over Kraglin with his face buried in Kraglin’s armpit. There’s a bottle and a half of that terrible rotgut Rocket makes emptied next to them, and Mantis bites her lip. They must not have heard from Yondu yet. 

As soon as he sees her, Kraglin pushes himself up. He looks vaguely like he’s bracing himself for something unpleasant, but he doesn’t back away, just slings an arm over Rocket and then cocks his head. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Mantis sidles a little further into the room, “but I am making a romantic dinner for Nebula and I need candles.”

Rocket’s makes a cantankerous sound, flops his head the other way so he can train a beady glare on Mantis. 

“You know Blue’s head over tits for you,” he says. “Don’t need any fuckin’ _candles,_ just go for it.”

What? Mantis opens her mouth, closes it as something warm starts glowing in her chest. Nebula really liked her, enough the others could tell? 

“Yeah, just get her on the couch, and just grab her boob,” Rocket holds a paw up in demonstration. “Works every time.”

If Kraglin rolls his eyes any harder, he’d roll them both right off the bed. 

“Have you _ever_ pulled a woman,” he shakes his head. “‘Cause I have, and that don’t tend to work s’well.”

Rocket shrugs. “Don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

Kraglin opens his mouth, and Mantis had better cut this off before the two of them get going. 

“I already know Nebula likes me,” she says. “But I don’t think anyone has ever made a romantic dinner for her with candles.”

And Nebula deserves that. She deserves everything she's never had before, that Mantis can give her. 

Rocket and Kraglin both look vaguely uncertain, but Mantis doesn’t leave. After a beat, Rocket sighs.

“We’ve got some over there, probably,” he waves a paw in the direction of the corner junk heap. “Right Kraglin? You threw them some where over there after we–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kraglin grumbles, eeling himself out from under the blankets and off the bed. “Bug don’t need to hear all what we get up to.”

Huh. Mantis tilts her head. Maybe later she’ll have to ask Rocket more. She hadn’t known candles could be used for bedroom activities. Definitely worth exploring, but maybe after she's figured out how to have sex first.

 

 Nebula blinks, frozen, as the door slides shut behind her. 

“What,” she starts to say, that her hands squeeze into fist and she frowns. Her mouth scrunches up, and her lips are blue and soft and Mantis needs to kiss them right now. 

She crowds Nebula back up against the door, stares up at Nebula’s baffledly grumpy face. Nebula doesn’t move, but her breath is coming faster, chest moving against Mantis’. 

Mantis reaches a hand up slowly, cups her cheek when she doesn’t move away. Just like that, all the breathless desire floods in through Mantis’ fingertips, and she pushes up on her toes, kisses Nebula hard. 

And Nebula… Nebula _melts._

Yes. This is what Mantis wants. 

She digs her fingertips into Nebula’s face, grabs a handful of leather at Nebula’s waist. She still tastes mostly like mouth and a little like those nasty protein bars Nebula eats when she’s noteating Mantis’ cooking, but there’s something else. Something that hooks low in Mantis’ belly, makes her crowd Nebula even tighter against the wall as she goes for her zipper. 

Nebula lets out a startled moan into Mantis’ mouth, and wait. Mantis had set everything up. She breaks away long enough to mumble against Nebula’s mouth, “I made dinner do you want eat…?” 

But before she’s even finished talking Mantis can feel Nebula’s denial, the way she presses up into Mantis’ hands. 

Well. She can always warm the food up later. And then maybe try this again. After all, it’s gonna take lots of tries to figure out what Nebula likes. Lots and lots of tries. 

The zipper slides open and Mantis pulls back enough she can peel the top half of Nebula’s jumpsuit down. Really, she should just wear shirts around the ship, they’re so much more soft and comfortable and easy to get out of.

Nebula shifts and oh, she wants to touch Mantis back. 

“Here,” Mantis gently grabs Nebula’s hands, brings them to her hips. “I want you to touch me too.”

A whisper of relief breathes across her skin, and then Mantis gets her hands back on Nebula, touches all that lovely blue skin, traces the boundaries where it meets metal, where it pulls into scars.

Nebula’s touching her back, pushing under her shirt, down to her ass, up to thumb at the sides of her breasts. She _wants_ Mantis, greedy and devouring and desperate, blooming up under all that fear and uncertainty. 

“ _Yes,”_ Mantis’ voice drops low, “Like that, I want to make you feel like that,” and she pushes back all the _mine yes want_ until Nebula moans higher, spasms against her. 

Mantis’ nearly drunk on it, as it loops between them, faster and faster.

“Can I…?” she whispers, and she doesn’t even know why she’s whispering, there’s no one around to be quiet for. She’s not even sure what’s she’s asking but Nebula just nods fiercely, pulls Mantis’ shirt up and over her head. 

Oh, yes. Naked is better. Mantis pushes Nebula’s jumpsuit down further, until she’s bare in front of her and Mantis stares, slides her hands down to thumb at the crease of Nebula’s hip. It’s flushed darker blue, Nebula’s cunt, and Mantis wants to touch her. 

“Please,” Mantis slides her hands down, clumsily pushes a jumbled basket of images of all the things she wants to do. “Is it too much?” 

Nebula’s trembling again, face twisted up, but it’s not that she doesn’t want this. Mantis tilts her head, concentrates. Oh. She's worried she's not doing enough.

“Oh,” she breathes, “Just let me. I can feel your pleasure, and I want to touch you. Please.” 

Nebula’s lips part and Mantis can feel it, the desperate need to do something, to not fail, but that’s not it at all, and she opens the connection, lets everything lighting up her skin soak into Nebula’s.

Maybe it’s just as easy as this. Nothing so serious, so meant to be or perfect. Just their bodies, together, touching each other like they matter. 

Mantis reaches down, traces slowly around the edges of Nebula’s cunt. She’s wet, and Mantis keeps touching sliding her fingers around Nebula’s folds, between them. Every little zing of pleasure shoots straight to Mantis, and she shifts her legs wider, tenses and shudders. 

Nebula’s mind is a blur now, nothing but desire and shock and need still tinged with that bewildered fear but even that starts to melt away as Mantis gently fingers her clit. 

The book had said that every person liked this differently, so Mantis pulls herself together enough to concentrate, presses firmer, faster, feeling her reactions until Nebula judders up into her. 

“Yes,” Mantis says, “Like that, you feel so good.” 

Nebula convulses, hands coming up to dig painfully into Mantis’ shoulder. She’s pressing up on her toes now, making all these lovely little noises, and it’s _thrilling._ Mantis needs to make Nebula make more of those sounds. 

She rubs a bit faster, leans in to bury her face in Nebula’s neck. 

“You’re perfect,” Mantis says, and Nebula is, whining high and desperate as she contracts. Her legs clamp shut as she shudders against Mantis and comes, pulling Mantis trembling along with her.

Something sweet and hot and satisfied twists in Mantis chest as she pants, clinging to Nebula as she shivers through the aftershocks.

Nebula’s knees wobble, then give and before she can catch herself she lands nearly in a heap on Mantis. She’s lighter than she looks, and Mantis rolls her to the side and curls against her. Thank goodness Mantis put rugs down. It’s still cold, hard, and there’s a whole spread of food to be eaten. But for now, it’s all Mantis can do to bask in the giddy bewildered happiness rolling off Nebula, and the way she holds her in her arms.

 

One day, Nebula leaves. Mantis always knew she would have to go. Thanos is still out there and until he isn’t, Nebula will never stay.

She finds Mantis in the kitchen that morning, making bread. The dough is pillowy soft, wispy puffs of nutty brown flour cloud up around her hands. Mantis turns and kneads, turns and kneads, listens as Nebula tells her. 

“I will miss you,” Mantis pushes harder into the dough, turns and pushes again in careful rhythm. Nebula makes that face she always does when she’s embarrassed, half-scowl half-bewilderment. 

“I have to do this,”

“I know,” Mantis stops kneading, turns to look up at Nebula. She takes a step forward, then another, until they’re standing chest to chest. 

Nebula doesn’t make her any promises, and Mantis doesn’t ask for them. She reaches out to wrap her arms around Nebula’s waist, tucks her face against Nebula’s neck. This time when Nebula holds her, carefully wraps around her on the bridge, it’s a little closer than before.

**Author's Note:**

> comments feed the soul


End file.
